


4 Years

by cookiethewriter



Series: blue eyes and a heartbeat [4]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, dean cries a lil' bit in this, here have some emotions, i intend to rectify this immediately, the ambreigns well is lookin a little dry lately, this could also be considered pure friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 18:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9778973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookiethewriter/pseuds/cookiethewriter
Summary: Four years ago, Dean was on his way out. But, one day, something happened that changed EVERYTHING.





	

**Author's Note:**

> heyo! this could be viewed as pre-slash or just friendship. but, long-story-short, this is roughly how i envision my first time meeting my best friend (((my soulmate))) one day. i'll literally be dean. no question - i'm gonna cry like a lil' bitch, lol.
> 
> ANYWAY. enjoy, heathens.

It had been four years in the making, this moment. Not many things could have this effect on a guy like Dean, have his stomach tying itself in knots, untying and then tying tighter knots.

By nature, he always had too much going through him at one point to be able to stand still, so pacing back and forth while he waited for the plane to land wasn't a new phenomenon, but biting of his lip and the scrubbing of his shaking hands through his hair was new, not to mention the way his heart skipped a beat every time he heard a plane outside, hoping it was landing when it was always taking off.

Dean shakes his hands out at his sides and, to keep them from shaking, shoves them into his jean pockets, bitten-down nails scraping against the fabric of his pocket against his thigh, finding no breathing room.

"Breathe, Dean," his friend Sami - a guy with a smile about as contagious as pistachios and a love for everything a mile wide - put a hand on Dean's shoulder, not bothered at all by the twitch and jerk that accompanied it; Dean wasn't big on a lot of physical contact that didn't involve a fist, but Sami had become an exception (one of few, but one nonetheless.) When blue eyes find green, they're a little hesitant, Sami laughs pats Dean's shoulder. "He'll be here. He sent you pictures of him on the plane, right?"

As if remembering this iota of information, Dean pulls out his cell phone - _it took a lot of convincing from multiple parties to get him to upgrade to a smartphone, and still he had no idea how to use it outside of texting and Skype_ \- and clicks on a message thread, scrolling through blue and gray messages until he sees the reason for his pacing and anxiety staring at him with a big, toothy grin, and a caption that reads _ON MY WAY_ in all capital letters.

The sound that tears out of Dean in that moment is a raspy half-sob, half-laugh, as if he'd been screaming this whole time. Sami takes that as a win and nudges his friend over to a couple of chairs facing the tunnel where the person who might as well have saved Dean's life would be walking out.

Four years ago, Dean was on his way out, all because someone he thought he loved, thought he could _trust_ , had kicked him down and spit venom to make him stay there. Someone who was like his brother, the one person in the world who promised never to leave like his father, to abandon him like his mother had, and instead had left him in a mess of broken glass and venomous proclamations.

It would have been so easy - just _boom_ and gone - but Dean's heart was a traitor.

_One more day_ , it pleaded, shaking the chains he'd wrapped around it, a last ditch effort to keep it safe against the cruel mistress called 'life', _just one more. You're no quitter._

Traitor.

It turned out that his heart was a smart sonuvabitch, because one more day became three became seven.

But, one day, something happened that changed _everything._

It's a memory that Dean holds quite close, can remember clearer than any other memory in his entire life; he'd been looking through this group on Facebook - he barely used it even then, and has since deleted the damn account - that dealt with victims of abuse and depression, and had found himself down a rabbit-hole of self-help tips and coping mechanisms.

One post caught his eye - one story that really made his heart squeeze.

A story of a boy, whose father was away a lot, whose mother worked hard for him and his brother and sisters; who had been on food stamps and had struggled with abandonment issues and insecure about the way he looked and the numbers on his bathroom scale. How he had to wear a tee shirt to swim in the pool or at the beach, or how he wore contacts to hide his dark-brown eyes.

A picture came attached to the post, with a caption: _this page saved my life._

Now, looking back at the old screencaps of that post and the messages they'd shared afterwards, it all seemed rather stupid; his initial reaction, despite being a secretly compassionate person underneath the brash, callous attitude, had been to treat it like a 'my life sucks more than yours' contest, and the moment he sent it they were off to the races.

The guy never took the bait though.

Needless to say, though, that after a week-long pissing contest, a relentless back and forth between the two ... they had both been kicked out of the group, and it was made Private.

Few days go by.

Dean gets a message.

* * *

**New Message Request**  
**From Roman Reigns**

Look, it sounds like we both got some issues we got to work through. I'm sorry we got off on the wrong foot, but I can't just let you walk all over me like that. Let's start over. Hi. I'm Roman.

* * *

From that day to now, four years later ... Roman became the best thing Dean had ever had.

Messages over Facebook had moved to Skype, where they chatted through messages and then switched to voice calls. Dean remembered the way his jaw cracked when it dropped at how deep Roman's voice had been. But, when the voice could be put to a living, breathing face (the picture had been old in comparison and _hardly_ did him any justice, now), and he was staring a dark-eyed, dark-haired man in the face ... that was it. His fate was sealed.

They learned a lot about each other in four years; had spent countless all-nighters in video calls calming the other down or letting the other explode. Some nights got intensely personal, and it ended up with Dean completely breaking down, voice hoarse, tears down his face and split flying from his mouth as he shouted and begged for nothing in particular.

That's when things had changed, and for once, it hadn't been for the worst.

Words that Dean had never once heard in his life were uttered by Roman in the silence between Dean's pants and sobs.

_"I'm not goin' anywhere, D."_

* * *

Dean hadn't realized he'd started to cry, just a little bit, until a single tear splattered on his phone screen and altered the image of Roman on the plane, and quickly, he scrubbed at his face with the sleeve of his jacket - a leather jacket that Roman had sent him for Christmas - and gave a cautious look around; no one was paying any attention, thank god, and Sami had taken to leaning his head on Dean's shoulder and falling asleep. Breathing a sigh, he sits back in his chair, digging his thumb and middle finger into his eyes to give any more tears pause.

An airplane touches down, and a voice calls over the intercom something Dean can't understand. All he can comprehend in that moment, and what makes him jump up from the chair so quickly Sami's whole body jerks with it, is the text message from Roman that simply reads: **b there in 10**

His entire body is in a constant state of motion, then, his body swaying and arms shaking out and hands tightening to fists; Dean fucking Ambrose doesn't get jittery, not like this, doesn't get butterflies in his stomach or words stuck in his throat. He hugs himself, tries to lock it in, to get control of himself and he hears the ruffling of Sami joining him, resting his hands on Dean's shoulders and keeping his grip easy but heavy.

It doesn't help, but moments later when people start coming inside, his entire body stills, his eyes on full alert, his tongue poking out to wet his bottom lip before he purses his lips.

There's this moment where Dean _swears_ he hears his heartbeat, because his eyes lock on someone with dark hair pulled into a bun, standing taller than the passengers in front of him, his muscle tank top showing off the intricate sleeve tattoo on his right arm, and his booming voice muttering "Excuse me- sorry, you good?- 'scuse me, sorry-" before he's free of the crowd and ... they lock eyes.

A sting settles in Dean's throat, and he feels a shiver shoot up his spine before his head suddenly bows forward, as if it's hard for him to breathe, and he has to bend over for a moment to catch his breath before he surges forward, practically pushing people out of the way - Sami behind him kindly apologizes as they grumble past him, but that's the _least_ of his concerns right now - until he's close to Roman.

Roman's carry-on and suitcase fall from his hands and his arms wrap around Dean simultaneously as he jumps into Roman's arms, arms locked tight around his neck, holding on tight because he's afraid that if he lets go, Roman will disappear.

"Oh my god. _Oh my god._ "

* * *

**I want to see you**

_i want 2 see u 2_

**Can you imagine us meeting? You'd cry probably**

_i will not u fucker_

* * *

(But he was, he was fucking crying again, but he couldn't care fucking _less_.)

* * *

_hey ro?_

**Yeah?**

_would you consider moving here?_

**To Cincy? Don't you hate it there?**

_i'd hate it less if u were here_

[backspace backspace backspace] 

_i guess, it'd be fun tho_

**I'd rather bring you here, babe. You'd LOVE Florida**

* * *

(Dean had typed and deleted _i love you_ about five times before he sent _prolly_.)

* * *

Dean's not sure at what point he'd started nuzzling his face into Roman's neck, his cheek, but sometime during those moments Roman had started rubbing his back, pressing his nose to the side of Dean's head, giggling something Dean couldn't quite here until he had to stop and breathe, putting his hands on each of Roman's shoulders and looking up at him with glossy, wide eyes.

"Huh?"

"I said," Roman starts to say, before presses his palm to the side of Dean's neck, thumb tracing over his throat, a gentle caress, "Told you you'd cry."

"Shut the fuck up."

Roman's laughter is just about the greatest sound he's ever heard in person, and a part of Dean is still in awe of the fact that there's even an _in person_ situation in the first place, but he starts to laugh too, soft sounds mixing with Roman's deeper ones, and he tucks himself right back into Roman's arms again.

Four years in the making. And Dean, honestly, _truly_ , could not be any fucking happier.


End file.
